


Reliquary

by Tui_and_La



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Childhood, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-26 01:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20381401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tui_and_La/pseuds/Tui_and_La
Summary: The more he tries to remember, the quicker he forgets. Years go by and steal from Roy precious moments they once shared as a family.  Whenever he reaches for a memory, it’s faint and blurry, slipping away from the fingertips of his childhood.





	1. Fear/Hope/Is this real?

**Author's Note:**

> For Moms Made Fullmetal 2019. I absolutely love the prompts of this year, two opposites and one sentence, all very creative, it was a pleasure. Greed might have passed by and rubbed off on me because I tried to play with all of them, hence the chapter titles. XD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If love’s elastic, then were we born to test its reach?  
Is it buried treasure  
Or just a single puzzle piece?"  
\- Homesick (Sleeping at Last)

Roy tries not to think about them often. He doesn’t like the ache when he dwells on the past. At first, they’re always the same smiles and kisses on the cheek, closing his eyes when dad’s hat grazes his forehead and blinking when mom’s hair tickles his neck. The last he had seen of them. 

It all happens naturally: they go as quickly as they come because the boy is always looking ahead. The past feels like an unchangeable, stale place and becomes dormant, while the future is inventive and inviting, allowing him to dream of what could have been. Roy wants to live to make his parents proud, so he sees their faces in his every accomplishment, now different smiles and new angles. 

Nevertheless, memories can surface unexpectedly, sometimes through nothing but a spark of context that only the unconscious comprehends. It is in one of those moments that realization strikes the kid. In a sudden awakening, he runs every corner of his brain, opens every dusty door and comes up with nothing but fragments. Roy has made a mistake to think his memories were that same immutable place. It’s been six years and so much of what he knew and loved is gone. Roy misses them like he hasn’t in years, and the feeling of loss threatens to make home inside his heart once again.

He sprints to the living room. He studies the photograph sitting on top of the fireplace. The golden frame with flourished borders is put aside so he can better investigate the image in all its hidden details, like the shoes they were wearing or the hat on the far corner. 

Madame finds him leaning over the tea table, chin resting on one arm and picture held loosely on the opposite hand. 

— Roy? Is something wrong? 

— I thought brides always chose a white gown for their weddings. Why was hers so… flowery?

It is a simple straight dress with short sleeves and a surplice neckline. Small flowers multiply as the skirt reaches her round toe shoes. It’s evident to him that the sepia shade masked several subtle colors.

— Well, she did mention something about not being a fan of white — says the woman as her eyes drift to the left. — I wasn’t so surprised when she decided for that one, it’s so much like her. Tony loved the idea. Leah really liked to dress in colors, didn’t she? 

Did she?

— It’s always this dress. Whenever I think about her, she’s wearing a dress I never saw her wear. The colors are light, though. Beige, and the flowers in yellow, lilac, something like that.

— You’re actually pretty close — she replies, surprised, and sits on the couch. — It may be because you see this picture on an everyday basis, so you incorporated it to your memory.

— Am I gonna forget everything I lived with mom and dad? — his shaky voice blurts out the question that has been tormenting his soul.

— Of course not, but you were only four when they died, so you’ll forget a lot of things. It’s part of growth, new stimuli just keeps flooding that little brain of yours. 

The boy can feel his heart tremble, though frustration now shares room with the fear consuming him.

— I didn’t think about them enough. What I have is not even whole, and some of it are lies. Maybe if I think about them every day, three times a day, if I just stop and concentrate, I can still rescue…

— Roy — she interrupts him with a hand on his shoulder. — It’s okay. Memories don’t have to be whole or even reliable. Even a photograph can only capture one second, a stiff and colorless second, to represent an entire event with its myriad emotions. And the damn thing cost an arm and a leg. Anyway, your love for your parents won’t vanish, Roy, and their love for you also lives on. Every little piece you have holds an even bigger value than you may think, because they marked you. And they were so remarkable because they carry the essence of what you lived with them. 

He nods and says nothing. He needs a moment to process that. 

— When you moved to your room, I asked if you wanted to take that with you. You said you didn’t, but you can still put it there if you change your mind. 

— No. It’s only a photograph. 

In the end, photos were a better representation of the past’s irreversible nature than his recollections, but that was a reason to hope rather than fear. He glances at the joyful bride another time before he leaves the room. It was the most beautiful wedding dress he had ever seen because his mother’s identity was written all over it, but it could only gain colors and movement after touched by him. 

Yes, his dynamic memories gave them life once again.


	2. Birth/Death/Everything changes

Gleaming eyes stare back at him and a tear escapes. This particular night stands out among other memories carrying a bittersweet stamp.

_“We’ll get another cat, what do you say?”_

_“No! I don’t want another cat. I don’t want any more animals, never. I just want Arnold now, because he can’t die… Will he?”_

He knows Mom had the best intentions, but three-year-old Roy felt slightly insulted by the idea of a replacement cat. He wanted a guarantee that his plush dog was immortal and the toy would be enough. Now he wonders if a new pet was her way to ease her loss. 

_“What are you doing, Roy?”_

_“I’m writing a letter.”_

_“You’re writing?”_

He couldn’t even write his name yet, which didn’t make him any less confident on his task as he scribbled randomly the sheet of paper with a red color pencil.

_“Yeah. To Mr. Hoover. I’ll tell him that he is a terrible man that kills cats and he can’t kill animals so I don’t forgive him.”_

_“Can I help you with that?”_

_“You gotta use red. Coconut was all red.”_

It might have been the visceral scene they had witnessed earlier as seen through her child’s perspective what had triggered her tears. That’s another thing his three-year-old self was not able to consider at the time. Little Roy was simply disarmed by the sorrow he found in his mom’s eyes. 

The shape of his eyes is not as prominent as hers, but still unusual to Amestrian standards. Every once in a while, Roy thinks about it when he sees himself in the mirror. It reminds him that he carries a part of her with him, as if she has left behind an amulet. Hematite eyes. No crystal could define their thick blend of dark irises and pupil better than a stone. Roy learns about hematite upon seeing it in one of his aunt’s jewels – it’s an iron mineral, so of course it sparks the chemistry boy’s curiosity, but upon studying closely each polished piece in her bracelet, he finds himself lost in its beauty and the memories it evokes. 

_“Mommy, why you crying?”_

_“Because I’m sad. Because I’m gonna miss Coconut. Won’t you miss her?”_

_“You will feel better when you write. I promise.”_

_“Look, Roy. Mr. Hoover isn’t evil. He didn’t mean it and he apologized. He felt really bad too. He couldn’t see her under the car, thus, he couldn’t save her.”_

_“He’s lying.”_

_“No, I’m telling you this. It was an accident, Roy. I think we should say in the letter that we understand him and we accept he is sorry. So he feels better, too.”_

_“Then we don’t use red.”_

The conversation they had that night was a hazy cloud hovering over clear scenarios. Like the way he hugged her tight to make her stop crying and promised that his plan would heal them both, because he wanted to believe in that too. The way she embraced her feelings in order to validate his own, sitting him on her lap and turning his frustration into forgiveness, shaping her strong-minded kid. The way the letter ended up with scribbles in red and a message in green. 

Roy wishes he could erase her sadness from his recollections. He realizes that expression was also present in other moments they’d shared. When she talked about Xing, her mouth dreamed the most beautiful things with a magical smile, but her eyes suffered.


	3. Disappointment/Pride/I need answers

— There’s more to it — the boy insists, firmly planting both his feet on the floor and looking up at her. — There’s more to everything in this house. There’s more to your job than serving drinks, there’s more to your conversations with the girls…

— Roy…

— It’s like you’re always doing things behind my back.

Madame continues to dismiss his questions through sharp responses:

— You have nothing to do with my talks with the girls.

— Until you talk about my parents! Why can’t you just tell me?

Roy had heard enough and he couldn’t ignore the way Teresa reminded his aunt that she had made the safer decision to bury his mother’s affairs instead of finishing what she had started.

— I don’t know what you’re looking for, kid — she says impatient and rests one hand on her hip. — We’ve talked about their accident before and I told you everything the police told me.

— I want the truth! — he pleas. — I can take it, I swear.

The dim light filling the hallway makes her golden earrings glow as she leans towards her nephew. The woman’s voice softens but her authority remains unrelenting.

— I always prefer to tell you the truth, Roy. Trust me, I don’t underestimate your intelligence. But my talks to my girls are adult business. I’ll say again: whatever you think you hear, you have nothing to do with it. When you grow up, you’ll better understand how this house runs; for now, just understand that I do what’s best for you.

— No.

She lets out a breathy laughter.

— Of course. Then I’ll just have to disappoint you this time.

— Does it have anything to do with me? Did they die because of me?

That day replays in his head. Mom’ decision to drop him on their neighbor’s house had been sudden and Roy tried to resist, confused by her actions and her anxious appearance. He just wants to know if she saw it coming, if she worried his life might be in danger, if she made any risky move because of him. If it was not an accident.

— Of course not. Why would you even think that? Whatever is going through your head, I assure you that accident is not in any way your fault.

He gazes her for a moment, accessing whether or not she’s being honest, although there’s no doubt about it. She speaks as carefree as always, like his efforts to corner her are futile. 

— I see you’re not willing to trust me anymore. Be stubborn all you want. I don’t care if you get mad at me.

— You can bet I’m mad at you — he shots back with clenched fists and eyebrows sinking in the bridge of his nose.

— Alright — she replies nonchalantly.

— I’ll find out by myself.

— Hum, sure.

She’s already walking away, an attitude that makes her nephew’s blood boil.

— It is spiteful that you would keep me in the dark about my own parents, who even gave you the right to deny me information when I already have so little? Their deaths are not you’re business alone, you’re just being selfish! — he said in one breath, raising his voice as the distance between them increased. 

She stops by the stairs with one hand placed on the handrail but doesn’t turn around.

— I don’t know — she says in an exhale. — I don’t know what, exactly, happened that night, but it doesn’t matter. They died in that car and no extra information can bring them back. Get over it.

Taken by surprise, Roy is unable to speak and watches her go upstairs with his mouth half open. Madame’s words are harsh but not devoid of emotion. He can sense her uneasiness as she speaks, but there’s something else in her low tone and the way she refuses to look at him. The same he had seen when he’d eavesdropped her conversation with Teresa, but only now he’s able to decipher (or admit) it.

Shame is something he had never seen in his aunt before. Whatever it is she knows, she doesn’t have the closure he was looking for, and that still haunts her.


	4. Comfort/Anger/Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is day 5 instead of day 4.  
The inspiration for the name comes from the Chinese empress Yang Lihua, but written as 梨華 it can be translated to pear blossom, which I find really sweat.

_Lí-huà_, he repeats to himself that night, so he will never forget again.

_Líhuà_, he says faster, with more precision, under his breath.

_Líhuà_, he smiles, that is exactly how his father pronounced it.

The name can’t be compared to its cheap replacement. It is pure melody, sung instead of spoken. It floats in the air and wraps its arms around him, leaving a scent of flowers in his bed sheets. It smiles colorfully, happy that he remembers.

It wasn’t hard, it was challenging. He bets he can learn to write it as well, copying it from the back of that one picture until it becomes muscle memory. She wrote it there in her mother language because it was an intimate photograph, just his father and her, just the one man allowed to address the real poetry of her name. 

He understands now, and it angers him. That someone would have to change their name to better fit in, to make it easier for others, because others don't make an effort to learn, as a reminder that you don’t belong here. He likes his own name, Roy. It’s simple but strong, it allows no variations or shortcuts. He wonders what name she would have chosen if he had been born Xingese. And he concludes he likes Roy more, he would want nothing else.

_Líhuà_, there may be a hidden meaning in that name. She might have mentioned it in the past, but he no longer remembers. She had saved it to the one person who could value it, and its secrets had died between them. Now, all that is left to Roy is the way his father savored her name and the way his mother’s eyes sparkled in response. 

That was enough for him to let go of _Leah_. In his heart, she would always be recalled as Líhuà.


	5. Lost/Found/Family

Roy knocks the door of her room, a place he had never visited before, and she tells him to come in. He excuses himself, explaining his mission was simply to deliver a message from his master, her father. 

The place is simple and old fashioned, a tiny room with wooden furniture. Roy sees no color apart from her yellow bed sheets, but that’s not what calls his attention. Riza seemed to be looking at the picture on the bedside table. Roy would’ve ignored the scene if Riza hadn’t been so concentrated when he opened the door. He sees a clear contrast between her and the lack of attention he pays to his own past, and that awakens in him a sudden curiosity. 

— She looks so much like you — he says starring at the photograph. — Your mother, isn’t she?

— Yes. Yes, she did. — Riza replies putting her long fringe behind the ear. 

The woman’s hair touched her clavicles and seemed not much darker than her husband’s, while her eyes were big and round giving her the appearance of someone who had just entered adulthood, although she held her own baby with noticeable life experience. 

— Were you young? I mean, you’re still young, and little… — he continues, now regretting the topic altogether. — Sorry to ask. I just came because we’re busy and Master Hawkeye is asking you to handle dinner by yourself tonight…

Riza looks like she can’t help but judge him, and Roy feels his cheeks grow warmer with every stumble in his own words.

— I was seven, so it’s been a while. I still remember her often, though. 

— That must be difficult — he notes.

— No. I’m glad I do. That way I know how to best do the chores, for example. I don’t dance around the house, though — she adds, almost like she’s thinking out loud. 

— Your mom danced while doing house chores? But they suck! 

Roy can’t picture someone happily sweeping the floor, but Riza simply laughs it off and clarifies: 

— No, it just seemed like she was dancing. She always moved so lightly, you know?

To Roy’s surprise, the girl proceeds to tell him stories about her mother. He sees in her round eyes a glint of eagerness and he concludes she hasn’t had a chance in a long time. Riza talks like she has no one to share, thus, he listens. 

— … But she wasn’t just a great cook, she was a great hunter. She only allowed me to observe, since I was so little, but I paid close attention to everything. She was so elegant with the shotgun, you know? Stealthy. She cradled it in her arms as if it wasn’t even a weapon. And she taught me to never hunt animals unless we were going to consume them. So I’ve been practicing, but I’m still bad when my target is moving. 

Riza smiles shyly as she speaks. Roy wonders if she has forgotten his presence completely, but she is always checking on him, then back to the picture, then out the window. Sometimes she hurries her words, afraid she might be bothering and that moment might be coming to an end, or so it seems to him. She’s wrong. He is glad to see her open up and finds himself fascinated by her stories, so he nods every other time and doesn’t dare to interrupt. 

On the other hand, there’s a heaviness growing in his chest. He searches for a parallel in his own mind and is once again reminded of how little he even misses his parents at the mark of his sixteen years. Roy feels guilty for being envious. 

Riza grows more comfortable with him. She gestures the right way to hold a shotgun and promises to show him the weapon. As soon as she stops he knows it’s his turn to fill in the void between them. 

— She was an amazing woman. I bet she was very admired around here. 

— Indeed, she was. What about you? I think Dad mentioned that you lived with your aunt — she asks politely. 

— Yeah, since I was four. But I remember quite some things, you know? My parents were great, both of them. Mom, she… 

He regrets his words immediately. He didn’t mean to lie, he just wants her to know what an amazing woman his mother was. However, all that crosses his mind are several adventures he has lived with his aunt and the girls in the bar. He can tell her how Aunt Chris is unable to cook more than a couple of dishes but can fix and create her own outfits, or how she taught him all the tricks and dangers of a big city, but that’s not what Riza is expecting. She hopes it to be a moment when they share their losses and he doesn’t want to ruin it. 

— You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to — she informs, once again trying to be thoughtful, and he knows she’s being sincere. 

— No, I do! — he replies, almost in a plea. He wants to beg Riza for her patience as he searches for the right way to describe his mother. He wants to talk about the wonderful woman she was with the same beautiful words Riza used and reach the same depth that touched him, but that’s not how he is. 

— She was… actually, she was like… like _you_. 

Yes. That is how his mother was. 

— Me? — the girl exclaims. She asks with a confused frown: — Was she blond, too? 

Roy giggles. 

— No, not _physically_. I mean the way you just talked, right now. That’s what she was like. She used to tell me detailed stories about her place, passionately. She knew how to honor everything she cared for through words and gestures, the way you just did, and she defended it. I think your mother would be really proud of you, Riza. And happy that you listened to her so well. 

— Ah, thank you. I think the same goes for you. 

He sees his master’s daughter turn red, unsure of how to respond. He spares her from more efforts and says he has to return to work. 

— Take me to see you practice someday. I guess I owe you stories about my aunt Chris. 

She nods excitedly before he walks out.


End file.
